


My Heart Is Gladder Than All These

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e02 Fugue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: By now, Peter had got used to Morse storming out of the station at all hours when he had one of his crazy ideas, but with Debbie Snow still missing, he was more alert to his colleague’s erratic moods than ever and so, when he tried to run past him, he grabbed him by the elbow. A Morse/Jakes Fugue retelling.
Relationships: Peter Jakes/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	My Heart Is Gladder Than All These

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> This is a Secret Santa gift for lieutenantmalcolmreed on tumblr. Hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful Christmas!

By now, Peter had got used to Morse storming out of the station at all hours when he had one of his crazy ideas, but with Debbie Snow still missing, he was more alert to his colleague’s erratic moods than ever and so, when he tried to run past him, he grabbed him by the elbow.

A small spark of electricity seemed to run his arm for a moment, but he ignored it and told himself it was nothing. “Where are you going?”

“The Bodleian library – that’s what the anagram means!”

 _Near by libra idol_. Huh. Must be all the crosswords he usually did at the pub when other people were busy with what one did usually at lunch, like eating.

Really, he was much too thin. Maybe Peter should take him some place these days, get an actual meal into him…

He stopped that train because it sounded suspiciously like a… “Alright, let’s go then” he said abruptly.

Morse blinked at him. “What?”

“Let’s go.”

“But…”

“I am not going to discuss that further, Constable” he snapped, grabbing his coat. “Come on, I’m driving.”

He didn’t think Morse knew how exhausted he already looked. Really, Peter shouldn’t have attacked him earlier, but he was still worried sick for the child, like they all were.

“So how did you guess it?”

“I tried all different sorts of anagrams” Morse shrugged. “This one made the most sense.”

Well, if he put it like that.

* * *

“He’s here now?” Peter couldn’t believe their luck – as in, he quite literally couldn’t believe that they had gotten so lucky and it was probably not a coincidence that Keith Miller was here now.

They quickly brought the librarians to close the place for the time being, then checked out the only place he could have made a run for – the archives downstairs.

“Call Cowley station” Peer turned to the librarian, “Tell them Sergeant Jakes and Constable Morse need urgent assistance at the Bodleian library.”

Morse, with his usual disregard for procedure when he was on the scent, had already run downstairs, and Peter hastened to follow him. That man had already killed, God alone knew –

He had just reached the first set of shelves and taken in just how many hiding spaces there were when he heard some boxes fall and something that sounded like a groan of pain –

He moved before he could make the conscious decision to do so. “Morse!?”

He was just staggering back to his feet when he arrived and didn’t even take the time to say anything, simply took off after Miller again.

Well, as long as he could run…

They emerged into the night and it became quickly obvious that he was gone. Thankfully Strange and a few other bobbies arrived just in time.

“Check the area. He’s here somewhere” Peter instructed even though he feared he was long gone. He turned to Morse. “We need to –“

His blood ran cold. “Morse, _what is that?!_ ”

He looked at him, obviously confused, before gently touching his left side.

The hand returned bloody and Morse, only now that the rush of the chase had left him feeling the pain, collapsed on the stairs and Peter’s world narrowed down to the hands he was pressing desperately on the wound. “Strange, I need help here!” he barked while Morse was writhing underneath him.

 _Not exactly how I imagined this would_ be, he thought before he could stop himself. _Good God, get a grip, man; he is injured and you don’t know how bad it is yet!_

He concentrated on Morse. As distressing as it was to see a colleague like this, at least the noises of pain and the moving meant he was alive.

For how long, that was the question.

* * *

Thankfully – Peter didn’t want to imagine what Thursday’s reaction would have been like if things had gone awry – Morse wasn’t too badly injured. Peter wanted to bring him to the hospital anyway, but Morse was insistent that bit would be enough for Doctor DeBryn to check him out and Peter couldn’t insist without losing the façade he’d so carefully erected when it came to Morse – the detached colleague who was still slightly angry that the post of Thursday’s bagman had originally gone to a mere Constable.

It was definitely easier than to admit he’d begun to notice how Morse eyes lit up when he figured something out, or how his hair glowed in the sun, or how elegantly his fingers moved when he was going through evidence…

Yes, indefinitely better.

But still – lending someone a shirt in this situation was just the polite thing to do, wasn’t it? Because of course Morse didn’t have a spare at the station. Seeing how he usually looked (just his clothes, he himself looks – stop it) Peter wondered if he had a spare at home.

“I want it back, clean, starched and pressed.”

When he watch him wince as he tucked his shirt in, he asked, “You sure you’re fit for duty?” Certainly that was within the boundaries – he was after all the sergeant here and had to make sure that those under him were capable of doing their duty…

“Yeah” he answered and Peter didn’t push the issue because he was distracted by the surge of possessiveness that swelled in his chest at the sight of Morse in his clothes. He had always had a thing for his partners wearing his stuff…

Not that Morse was his partner, or ever would be.

* * *

And then they were off to find Debbie Snow, and actually found the girl, thank God.

And yet…

As Thursday pit her back where she belonged, her parents’ arms, Potter couldn’t help but notice that Morse looked much paler than he had at the station.

How long had he been awake by now? Hopefully Thursday would send him home soon…

Only that didn’t happen because they got the news about Cronyn.

* * *

By the time Thursday and Morse left to make more inquiries, Peter was wondering how Morse was still staying on his feet. He was all but swaying as he followed the Old Man outside.

Still, as long as Thursday thought he was good to go…

There was nothing Peter could do.

* * *

Still, he was relieved when the Old Man called in later that day. “We’ll not be back in; Morse’s in dire need of some rest.”

Peter idyll wondered if that meant he had tucked him in, but regretted that train of thought when his treacherous brain immediately provided him with an image of himself doing the same thing.

Well. At least he was not out there slowly killing himself by not paying attention to his injuries.

* * *

All this had begun with an plod lady believed to have died of heart failure, and here they were, trying to catch a homicidal maniac. Peter was even more sorry for what he had said to Morse earlier in the case now – yes, he might have been eccentric and slightly weird, but that was hardly a reason to put him in the same category as Mason Gull.

Still – how to find him, that was the question.

At least Morse seemed to be doing better, even if he was still pale and drawn-out. Peter would take that over him keeling over, though.

* * *

He was really growing tired of bloody anagrams. _I’m the killer_? Really? What an arrogant sod. But then, only Morse had forged it out, so maybe Peter didn’t have the right to say anything.

Still… He preferred good old-fashioned murders to this. Give him a jealous wife carving up her husband any day.

* * *

Peter half-expected Morse to faint when they saw the dirty bed Mason Gull had all but tortured Cronyn in, but he held firm, maybe because he was so focused on the case.

And the next victim was out in the open at her brother’s concert for anyone to grab her.

And they were off on another chase.

* * *

“No. F for Fred.”

 _Bloody_ _Hell._ They had never considered that one of their own could be a potential victim, and if Peter would have thought of it, he would have believed it to be Morse – after all, he was the one getting the weird opera phone calls, wasn’t he?

But no.

* * *

Morse was faster than any of them and ended up saving DI Thursday’s life. Peter half-expected him to come in and write his report immediately afterwards anyway, but it turned out the Old Man had sent him home.

Normally, Peter would have felt relieved, but he had his suspicion as to how Morse took the edge off, these days – mostly by drinking too much and brooding – and so he found himself rather worried.

Still, nothing he could do about it.

It wasn’t like he could spend the evening with Morse, cook something for him while he dozed on the couch, bring him a tea maybe…

This was getting into dangerous territory. His fantasies were turning positively domestic. Still, as long as he kept them to himself and didn’t do anything stupid, he’d be fine. Yes, there were men who thought like this about other men and Peter, for all his efforts, was one of them as well – there had been times when he had forgotten himself; but he’d learned to control these urges, he told himself.

Until Morse with his stupid perfect eyes and his stupid soft curls and stupid beautiful face had come along. Well – keep his distance it was, then; nothing else he could do, really. He’d just go home and forget all about him.

So how he ended up at Morse’s front door was anyone’s guess. He had been intent on going home, that much he knew.

And yet he knocked. He couldn’t help himself. Morse had climbed all over a roof today, he needed to say that he was alright. Or as alright as he would ever be, at least.

When he opened the door, there were tears in his eyes and for a moment, Peter felt embarrassed. He knew nights like this, and he strongly suspected that Morse wouldn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“Jakes?” he asked, blinking. Loud opera music emanated from the small flat.

“I…” he bit his lip. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Why?”

It was a good question. After all, Peter had spent the last few months constantly demonstrating how little he cared for Morse. “Because you got stabbed” he said, somewhat lamely.

“Slashed at” Morse corrected him because of course he did. “It’s nothing.”

“Fainting while driving a car isn’t nothing.” Something like betrayal flashed in Morse’s eyes and he hastened to add, “Thursday told me to explain why you weren’t coming back in. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why?” Dear god, did he have to ask? Couldn’t he just accept the favour? But no, of course not – otherwise he wouldn’t have been Morse, would he.

“Your health issues are your problem, and no one else’s” he said firmly.

Morse blinked. “Yes, well, I’m doing fine, so…”

“Anything you need?” he rushed out before he could stop himself. Like a good meal, or a cuddle, or a – _stop it, for God’s sake. He’s going to_ –

And then Morse’s mouth fell slightly open and Peter knew this was it. He had figured it put.

Oh God. This could be the end of his career; he could use this against him until the end of time; he might even –

It was then that a miracle occurred.

Because Morse closed his mouth, glanced away somewhat shyly but then stood straight to look Peter in the eyes –

And his expression was determinedly coy.

Peter swallowed. No. This wasn’t possible. Things like this didn’t happen to him –

Morse smiled. “Would you like to come in? If you want you can help me make dinner.”

“You know how to cook?” he blurted out. It was the most surprising thing about all of this.

Morse laughed and Peter was struck with how happy he sounded. “There are many things you don’t know about me, Peter Jakes.” He held out his hand. “Care to find out?”

And he reached out and clasped it tightly, allowing Morse to draw him into his flat.


End file.
